Bulldozer
by BasilioBoy777
Summary: Sequel to Hotshot, part 2 of 4. Gary Earthenbom thinks about recent events in his life while at football practice. One thing's for sure: they wouldn't let mutants play on the football team. Oneshot.


**Bulldozer**

Gary Earthenbom was sitting on the bench during football practice one afternoon. He was a linebacker on the team and the coach had just decided to switch to offensive strategy for a while, so Gary could take a break for a few minutes. He plopped down on the bench and let out a long sigh. He let his helmet drop to the ground as he tried to calm down and cool off. He reached over to the table behind him and grabbed a cup of lemon-lime Gatorade. Due to his immense thirst from practicing for two straight hours, he downed the entire thing in less than two seconds—a new record.

Gary was never much of deep thinker, which was why he always nearly failed every English class he ever took. Despite this, he couldn't help but ponder about the lesson in history class today, the one about the four something-or-others of that really old place where they held the last summer Olympics. Grease, was it? Like that old 50's movie with John Travolta? Anyway, it was weird. From the looks of things, his best friend Peter thought so too. The one that made the most sense to him was the, um, element, yeah that was it, element, called earth.

Earth, more commonly called "dirt," was something that had meaning in Gary's life, as odd as it sounded. He had certainly been buried in it enough times on the field, but that wasn't so much it as it was other things. His father worked as a construction manager, something one might think there was no market for in a place as big and populated as New York City, but eh, whatever. When he was little, Gary's dad used to take him to various construction sites while his mother was at Empire State University, finishing her doctorate degree in metaphysics, whatever the heck that meant. Gary would often sit in his father's lap in the machines, asking what this button did, and what happened when he pulled this lever, and when was it his turn to smash something. His favorite, by far, was the bulldozer, because it was so powerful, it could move anything; nothing could stand in its way and live to tell about it. Ironically enough, that was his nickname on the field, because he was known to plow through the offensive line like a machine to get to the opposing quarterback and sack him one. Still, dirt had more interesting meeting to Gary now.

A few months ago, he was leaning against a brick wall at another one of his dad's construction sites, waiting for him to get off so they could go home. He looked at his watch to see what time it was, he got the shock of his life. His hand was all rough and red, like a brick! He looked at the rest of body, and everything else was exactly the same! His first thought was, "Holy crap! Did I turn into the thing or something?" He stood up straight in alarm, and as soon as his body left the wall, it changed back to its regular color and texture. Now, _that_ was really, really weird.

This got Gary thinking for a bit. He glanced around, making sure nobody was paying any attention to him. Then he stood, facing the wall. Slowly, he put his finger up to the wall. The instant it made contact, his body turned rocky and red again. When he removed it, his body was normal. Cool. Gary walked over to some concrete that had been poured and dried. He bent down to touch it, and the same thing happened, except this time, his body was grey like the cement instead of red like brick. Next, he moved over to a steel beam to try his little experiment again. Only this time, when he touched it, nothing happened. Gary thought about this for a moment. Then something came to him. He reached down and grabbed a dirt clod, and sure enough, his body turned brown just like it. Now it all made sense, well, sort of. His little power only worked on stuff made of rocks or dirt, a.k.a. earth.

That had been months ago. Since then, Gary had learned how to make the response voluntary; he would only transform when he concentrated on it. All this made like no sense to him. Was he turning into one of those muties, like on TV? He hoped not; his parents would disown him, he'd be kicked off the team, and his friends . . .

Gary looked over to the stands to his right. Peter was sitting there, his trademark flaming, spiky red hair blowing in the wind. His feet were on his ever-present skateboard and he was currently playing something on his new PSP. On his left was another mutual friend of theirs, a young girl named Gayle Windslow. Her long brown hair draped over her face and glasses, her face buried in one of her textbooks; she had always been a bookworm. They would often come to see their friends at football and cheer practice from time to time. They looked up at Gary, and seeing him looking at them, they waved to him. As Gary waved back, he got this empty feeling in his stomach. He had all these problems, being a freak and all, and what did they have to worry about? Nothing, that's what. There was no way they could ever relate to his troubles, could they?

At that moment, the coach called him back over to the huddle, complete with the obscenities that were commonplace for high school coaches these days. As Gary trudged over, he couldn't help but think that days would now be just packed full of excitement.


End file.
